We’ll be serving about 75 hungry gunpowder smellin’ like customers for lunch so the last three hours we have been preparing for the onslaught.

Zee Two Zany Zorros are decked out in their finest white smocks, white bibs and black hairnets. We shore do look professional-like. My wife and I smile at each other confidently.

BRANG IT ON MOFO’S! Brang it ON!

Zero Plus One

Initial eye contact, as planned, sends my wife Kathy into action with her immediately grabbing the french fry basket to submerse our first batch of fresh cut potatoes.

People sure do love them Fresh Cut Fries…

Training pretty much takes over at this point, we all know what to do and have learned how to dance around each other to do it.

Yeah, we could do this shit with our eyes closed. We’re that good.

Fifty Yards Out

First full-on view of customers at twelve o’clock high, coming in low and slow off the horizon and (group of four, two big shooters at your three o’clock) vectoring our location.

At this point wife Kathy screams out in pain and flings the french fry basket to the thankfully disinfected, spotless floor.

I wonder if those dudes heard her holler? It was pretty friggin loud and very girlish. Maybe the generator noise overshadowed it.

Don’t want to spook ’em. It’s a long shot from here…

Forty Yards Out

Woman Down! The palm of my wife’s hand is already starting to blister. She’s crying. What idiot set the french fry basket over the deep fryer exhaust port so it could be the same temperature as the oil?! We are working with morons here!

Welp, no time to cry over burn flesh now, we got targets at THIRTY-FIVE YARDS!

Ignoring how my co-worker just got her hand fried, I pick up the same basket, also cooking the palmprint off my hand.

Thirty Yards Out

DAHH! Fuck! Just wrecked my gloves and one grappler! Customers at 25 yards out! Sweet Jesus! MEDIC! Honey are you okay?! WHY NOW? WE WERE SO PREPARED!!

Why life gotta be so tough?! Why can’t shit just go straight for once?! Why…

Twenty Yards Out

Panicky flailing with new gloves, a load of fresh cut potatoes into the oil and torchered grabbing of a pen. Oh my gawd, the pen, the pen, it hurts like hell!

Sure I coulda done it myself but there’s no medals of honor in the concession bus business and did I mention my scorched paw?

So that would be a stupid waste in my eyes.

LunchTime

We work wounded through lunch. I don’t remember much of it.

Afternoon Coffee

Between lunch and afternoon coffee we tend to our wounds. Even injured, we handled the rush efficiently.

Now just want to finish and go home. Hurting and tired with being our own relief.

Oh No, Where You Goin’? Uh-Uh, Not So Fast!

The guys with guns won’t let us go home without me firing a gun. I’m not into guns I say. That don’t matter. Guns are fun, you’ll see, they say. Dudes were very insistent.

I don’t want to fire a fucking gun on a good day but especially not today with one hook torched. I hide my blisters and try not to wince too loud when alpha dude squeezes my hand hard on the gun barrel to show me how to hold on tight. I don’t want to fucking hold on tightbut this is a fucking machine gun! YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON HOLDING ON TIGHT! Goddammit I hold on tight!

Injury Schmingery

I bet I looked like Rambo from the front as i fired that weapon because my teeth were clenched as I grimaced in pain. Pitta pow, pow! Pitta pow, pow! Pitta, pitta, pitta pow, pow, pow! Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow,pow!

See? A military type asks me spittle close. See? I knew you’d like it! Dude almost smashes safety glasses with me as he takes possession of the firearm.

I didn’t like it. I hated it and everything that that gun stood for. I just wanted to leave these nice shooters to their shooting and go home to lick my wounds.

WTF Was I Thinking?

Yeah, go home and contemplate getting into another line of work was more like it.

Hopefully something with fewer hot things and nowhere near guns.

Maybe a say-ohs job would be nice.

Or maybe a Say-ohs Manager…

Thank you, friend.

Barry out.

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One Response to “With His Hand Secretly Burnt To A Crisp, They Forced Him To Fire A Machine Gun.”

Shite Starts Here

Let's say you're one of those folks who has never vaped potty pot pot. Well, smartypants, that's not going to help you here much is it?!

TICKETS!

Get your tickets ready please!

Oh uh, hello there. How you doing?

Listen, my name is Barry and I'm the Conductor on this train so if you need anything, you just ask me, okay?

The bathrooms are right over there and please, pick up after yourself on account of I clean the place, too.

And uh, seeing as you're not from around here I'll just tell you straight out - although every story you might hear on this train is true, some stories are "truer" than others, if you can read between the rails...